Resist
by boethiah
Summary: .:Shepard is like a blazing fire, burning with even more intensity than the pain that encompasses Saren's entire being:. AU in which Saren survives the final battle, and eventually (and reluctantly) joins the woman who saved him. Enemies to lovers, though their relationship isn't exactly romantic. Rewrite/reupload. Also on AO3.
1. Chapter 1

"You could have resisted. You could have fought! Instead, you surrendered. You quit."

Shepard's words are burning flames and shards of ice against his skin, his mind, and he should shrug them off but they are bang-bang-banging their way through the barriers of rationality he's been trying to put up ever since Sovereign warped his weak organic body into a marvel of symbiosis between flesh and technology. This human is so small compared to him and inferior in every way... and still she's hunted him and the creature too old to comprehend across the galaxy, has found their secrets and plans and obliterated them to the point where even the ship which is so much more than a ship became impressed, wanted her. Now the words falling from her lips are _poison made to weaken your resolve_ ringing so true that they penetrate all his thoughts, wrap around his mind like they did on Virmire and he wants her to be right, wants it more than he ever wanted power.

"Maybe you're right... Maybe there is still a chance for... for-" Saren feels his insides twist as his body rejects what his mind accepts, feels a physical bone-crushing pain rush through his body. "The implants... Sovereign is too strong. I'm sorry. It is too late for me."

"There is still one way to stop this, if you've got the guts." She lowers her pistol and meets his gaze. The determination in her eyes gives him strength to resist the unnatural urge to _shoot her hurt her kill her destroy this organic vermin that thinks it can oppose us you are so much better_ and maybe she is his only salvation.

"Goodbye, Shepard. Thank you."

He raises his gun, placing it just under his jaw and the feeling of cold metal against warm skin is reassuring and safe, the experience entirely his own. So little has been his for the past two decades, and he takes a moment too long to allow himself these last seconds of being himself and in that moment he fully accepts that Shepard has been right all along, that he has been a tool for the Reaper and there is something familiar there-

"Wait."

Shepard slowly walks towards him, fiery green eyes trained on his own cold blue and Saren pauses. He doesn't think of her in terms of her humanity right now, thinks of her not as a person at all but as something undeniable, unignorable - like a building stone of the universe itself; matter, mass, evolution, entropy, Shepard - and he doesn't want to die, wonders if she who can resist the temptation Sovereign offers can also make him resist. He has been thinking so much about Shepard's words on Virmire, has been wondering about her convictions and why they strike a chord within him and now it seems as though she is offering him salvation despite what she's sacrificed to end him. But how can she possibly undo the infection in his thoughts?

x-x-x

x-x-x

"Shepard, what are you-" Kaidan starts, but stops himself when it is obvious that he will be ignored no matter what he says. He wishes she would explain, though, because this... she's been so focused on spilling Saren's blood ever since Eden Prime and the one-eighty is strange. Doubt settles in his mind; is Shepard, too, indoctrinated? Have all these Ciphers and visions and contact with Sovereign taken her mind away? If so, can he pull the trigger? He's not sure. He's not sure Garrus will be able to, either, and so he just watches his commanding officer, scared he will have to choose between her life and his own.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Shepard is like a blazing fire, burning with even more intensity than the pain that encompasses Saren's entire being and right now it is not important that she has been opposing, resisting him for months.

"Your mind isn't lost yet. _Fight it_", she says as she steadily approaches him and with the Reaper trying to tear his thoughts apart the voice is a welcome anchor in a churning ocean of conflicting impressions and instincts, none of them his own - maybe all of them his own, buried under years of someone, something else's will.

Shepard holds up an OSD, the surface of it reflecting the light of the flames and even though it is so small, it looks bright enough to shine into any black hole; a beacon of salvation.

"I can override the systems. I can fix all of this." The ghost of an expression of disgust passes over her features. "We can fix this. You've just got to _let me get to the control panel_."

Saren says nothing, just takes a lurching step forward, forgetting that he stands atop a glider and falls onto the edge of the platform beneath him, his left shoulder taking the full force of the impact and the pain is so, so good. Sharp and clear it seems to cut through even more of the strange thoughts inhabiting his mind as he lies by Shepard's feet when she opens the ward arms, commands a fleet, saves the Council - easily, casually, as if it's second nature to her.

But Saren can't watch her, caught between hatred and admiration, because he is fighting his own battle; a battle for his mind now that he truly realises that it is not his own, that it hasn't been for so long. It's as though he is buried under miles of someone else's convictions and has to get to the surface while constantly caught by undercurrents and a mental equivalent of deep-sea monsters. All the while, _she_ stares down at him, her gaze as firm on his as her hand on her sidearm. He feels feverish, helpless as he can only groan in agony while his body feels as though it is on fire, all the tech from Sovereign burning him from inside.

Meanwhile the Reaper whispers to him, urgently trying to convince him that the human _wants_ him to suffer, takes a perverse pleasure in it like all humans do - didn't he see that time and time again during the battle for Shanxi? And if Sovereign is destroyed the whole galaxy will perish, the other Reapers turning Palaven and all its colonies to seas of death and fire, eradicating the turian race.

Images of what happened to the protheans flash before his eyes. He knows what will happen, knows that Sovereign wants something better for the organics, wants them to be useful - master synthetics and become one with them. Saren is the proof that it can be done, already part synthetic and so much stronger, so much faster, so much better. He is the last hope for his species, for all species and should he not _allow others to experience this pinnacle of evolution and accept the praise and admiration of everyone else who will ascend into perfection, be their leader in this new world order because who understands it better? Give in give in give in-_

"_No_."

His voice is so much stronger than he expected, clearly audible despite the sounds of battle, alarms, raging fires. Shepard takes half a step away from him, watches, turns away.

"If he beats the Reaper, we know it's doable. That's info we can use. If he can't do it..." she says and there's the hiss and click of a gun unfolding. Saren doesn't have to look to know that its muzzle is aimed at his head.

He moves a hand to support himself better. His arm brushes against the tubes hanging by his side and he recoils a little in repulsion over how willingly he allowed the machine to to do this to him. But he believed, truly and unquestionably that he could save people, at least his own people, from annihilation but now it seems that the poison of indoctrination has gotten in too deep, wrapped itself around his spine.

_The human resisted. Will I be lesser than her?_

The thought is clearly his own, angry and hard. He knows the answer, the only possibly answer, and with a groan he grabs the tubes and rips them out. It is not much but it's something, an action of defiance, and the world goes dark as Sovereign growls inside Saren's head and screams outside of it as its shields flicker and fall.

x-x-x

x-x-x

_...silencesilencesilence no song to guide him no reassuring hum nothingnothing-_

Nothing except a five-fingered hand at his throat feeling for a pulse and the voice that condemned him to darkness telling him to wake up, words rasping against her dry throat. He breathes and her fingers retract from the rough skin just under his jaw, he opens his eyes and his vision is filled by the muzzle of an assault rifle.

"You all there?" she asks and his mind fees hollowed out. There is something else, too, like he hears her differently; as if her voice - now filled with venom instead of conviction - comes through unfiltered.

"My mind is my own", he replies, using the same words he shared with her on Virmire but they feel like truth this time.

"Not sure if that's an improvement." She lowers her gun and he glares up at her face. She is framed by the warm glow of fire and the cold light of Widow, making her features unbearably sharp. Parts of Sovereign lie scattered all around them. It looks as though she brought the Reaper down herself, tore it apart with her own two hands and that determination and rage that almost matches Saren's own. He almost appreciates the image despite the fact that she belongs to such a sad, weak species but keeps from it because-

There should be voices there, diverging his train of thought with hot whispers about her inferiority, words burning away his resistance, gentle suggestions to make him focus on his hatred for humans. They have been there for so long and Saren feels fearful when he realises that his mind was stolen from him years ago, feels resentful when he realises that _Shepard_ was the one to break Sovereign's hold - a hold that went into his bones, skull, deep in his lungs and all the way to the sharp tips of his talons.

But she saved him. Saved him and doomed the galaxy and he is not certain what to make of this woman whose back is turned to him and whose leg is obviously injured as alien red blood drips onto the floor from a crack in her armour. He finds it strange, so strange that Shepard bleeds like every other organic because surely she is more than any of them.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Fire and blood obscures David Anderson's vision from the delicate white metal arches and fields of green, green grass. Even the synthetic sun appears to glow with a harsh orange light that is all wrong, like a sunset after a storm rather than the constant day cycle in the Presidium Ring.

He runs, keeping pace with the human C-Sec officers just ahead of him. They tried to make him stay behind at the Embassy but nothing could keep him there, not now, not wen he knows Shepard is in the Council chambers, when he fervently hopes she will meet him breathing and proud and every bit the soldier she is, the best one he's had under his command.

The elevator is unlocked but one of the officers claim that something is wrong, that the glass is broken somewhere outside the artificial atmosphere that clings to the station and Anderson grabs her, tells her with urgency that they _need_ to get to the Presidium Tower. She meets his gaze, unflinching, before bringing up her omni-tool to find an alternate route.

He follows her as she climbs through Keeper tunnels and corridors he has never seen, passages that run like blood vessels through the immense Citadel and eventually they drop down from a ceiling panel in front of the entrance to the Council chambers. Anderson bursts through the door, expecting a battle but finding silence and it takes so long, too long until Alenko and Vakarian are uncovered. Neither of them bleeds. Anderson asks for Shepard, and he might not ever have been good at reading turian facial expressions, but Garrus' eyes and the way his mandibles curve down tells him more than he ever wanted to know and he has to force himself to look at the chunk of Reaper that juts out from the cold white floor.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Garrus feels so heavy, his limbs slow and unresponsive. This final battle was supposed to be a triumph, he and Shepard side by side, finishing the threat that had brought them together out of necessity. He thinks of her as a mentor and has hoped she would become a friend, someone to take a drink with in off-duty hours, someone to provide stability and sense in a world that slowly turns away from both. He thinks - he thought that he would still find a place aboard the Normandy, once he finished Spectre training, a steady and capable gun by her eight until the last Reaper fell.

He cannot believe that someone as tough, unbreakable as the human he respects and admires so much would die in such a way. An accident. A coincidence. It is difficult to fathom, and he looks back at the piece of Sovereign that makes up her headstone… and pauses.

Slow steps approach and blood beats loudly in his ears. He has no way of knowing if it's her or Saren, his guts feeling as though they're twisting in anticipation, and then his heart sinks.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Saren leans heavily on her, relying on her strength to help him forward. He feels sick but isn't certain if it is because she carries him through this, too, or if it has to do with the way his implants seem to at once dig deeper into his bones and being torn out of his skin.

Three C-Sec officers - humans, of course, and that disgusts him - approach them, two slipping under his arms to keep him upright, one slapping holographic handcuffs around his wrists and a non-officer drapes Shepard's arm around his shoulders, his teeth ground together so hard his jaw stands out sharply, stretching his soft skin. She calls him Kaidan, says she's fine and a smile curves along her mouth like the blade of a knife as she looks at Anderson.

"So this is it, Shepard?" Saren wheezes, staring at her over the shoulder of the man called Kaidan. "You leave me to rot in prison after all this?"

She returns his gaze, unwavering, unyielding. "If I'd killed you you would've gotten off too easily."

And with that she leaves and he is left behind and a part of him wants her to remain because she is the only solid, the only constant, the only thing he can rely on without seductive whispers and trickles of new tech along his veins.


	2. Chapter 2

Saren's trial is still only in a preparation stage; it seems the Council is either stalling because they have no idea what to actually do with him or because they are going to go through every transgression he's made in the past few months. He knows that if it is the latter, he might have to wait for a very long time.

His waiting is interrupted once and he is not sure if it has been days or weeks since someone spoke to him and didn't just leave trays of food. She is not a welcome sight but she is the only person he wants to see. He hates her but his hatred is comfortable, something as reliable as her sharp gaze and the contempt resting like a mask over her features.

"Did you decide a trial wasn't satisfactory enough?" he asks, only glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

She just stares at him, not answering. "Alliance Command tasked me with cleaning your geth up. Got anything I can work with?"

He stares back, disbelieving. "Why would I help you?" At the back of his mind, there are words itching to come out, words of how he was never truly in control of the geth but he holds back, unwilling to share anything with this woman who has left him with nothing.

"Could've been a few years less in prison if you'd been willing to cooperate", she says with a shrug and leaves when he says nothing.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Shepard watches her ship getting ripped to pieces by silent explosions as she hangs in the blackness of space, floating, tethered to nothing and her eyes are wide, wide, wide but not with fear and for a few seconds she is so alive.

She dies with her lungs on fire and lips rapidly cooling, body still twisting to reach the leak and trap the remaining oxygen, soul ripping at the seams when ancient whispers try to reach through to her. The body so many used to know as a powerful, relentless weapon is pushed towards the glittering snow-covered surface of Alchera by the blast of the Normandy's now destroyed drive core

and

falls.

What used to be her torso bursts open on impact, blood and entrails staining the snow red and the bones of her ribcage curve toward the sky as the ship that let her live between stars crashes around her, becomes her tombstone.

x-x-x

x-x-x

They are silent, their faces leaden as the escape pods are picked up and Joker shouts at the soldiers to _get her, she's still out there!_ and their captain asks _who? there are no life signatures anywhere near the wreckage_ and they all fall silent.

There is no room for tears or anger. They look around - Adams, Chakwas, Joker, Kaidan, Tali and Liara - and their features move into stiff emotionless masks as they're led to the captain's quarters for privacy. They call Garrus several times before he answers and disconnects as soon as they tell him. Wrex tells them to get in touch again when she returns; his way of saying that they have nothing in common any more, they assume.

When they call Anderson he tells them he already knows and sits silent for a long time before saying he'll meet them when they dock.

No one speaks after that, their words lying thick and heavy in their throats, caught behind clenched teeth as word spreads that the galaxy has lost its brightest light.

x-x-x

x-x-x

It takes days before Saren finds out because he hasn't been granted access to the extranet and the vid screen in his cell only shows a handful of channels, all of them either broadcasting educational programs or news and he has found that the latter talk of him too often and always with disapproval. It is as if the galaxy has forgotten who he was, that he used to be someone they admired and feared. Someone ruthless, sure, but also driven and charming and someone who always completed the job. Someone who protected them, tried to save them when he was made aware of the threat to the galaxy. He resents how easily they ignored all that the moment he fell from grace, loathes how they praise Shepard, foolishly thinking that she is better - kinder, gentler. They don't know her like he knows her. They haven't seen the rage and fire in her eyes, they know nothing of the way she cleared out the research base on Noveria, slaughtering everyone who so much as whispered resistance.

He knows and doesn't want to listen to sickeningly sweet words wrapping around lies of greatness and so it is not until his cell door opens and Garrus walks in that he finds out that something is amiss. The other turian's face is tight, as if relaxing even a fraction would make him fall apart and Saren is so bored and so alone that he is tempted to push the younger man over the edge, break him and the constraints of boredom both, but is stopped as the heavy words that have changed the galaxy fall between them.

"Shepard's dead."

Garrus feels as though something in his throat blocks his words but they come out anyway and the complete disbelief of expression crossing Saren's features makes him feel slightly better, momentarily; as if even the discharged Spectre has seen Shepard's worth and finds this single fact impossible.

"How?"

"Unknown ship attacked the Normandy." He considers mentioning that she died saving Joker - and a tiny part of him resents the helmsman for being alive when Shepard isn't - but doesn't think Saren deserves to know about her final act of good.

"Why are you telling me this?" There's disgust in Saren's voice. Impatience, too.

Garrus turns away as he says, "Because she'd want you to know."

It's true. He wasn't on the Normandy during the attack, but he knows Shepard. Knew Shepard. Her influence on him is still so strong that it feels wrong to think of her in the past tense because during the months he served under her she came to be his closest friend, his mentor and so much more than he can truly comprehend because she had a way of seeing people and helping them be the best that they could. She asked everything of him - of all of them - and even more of herself.

The door closes behind him, a guard locking it firmly, once again separating Saren from the outside and Garrus walks away. He doesn't really want to go, because this is a Citadel in grief over the woman who saved them and every corner seems to hold memories of her burning gaze and forceful voice, but he wants to linger at C-Sec even less.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Synthetic-blue eyes stare at the outline of the door, the red holographic panel in the center. Shepard's life was once in Saren's hands, talons pushing against the soft soft skin of her warm throat and she still wouldn't yield, wouldn't submit, wouldn't let him tear her open and crush that curved spine. If he was unable to kill her then, what could possibly have taken her life? Nothing as mundane as fire or bullets because she is too good, nothing as infinite as a Reaper because he knows he would know if that had been, a buzzing still lingering somewhere in his bones.

He turns the holo-screen on, selecting the first news channel that comes to mind and sits through an hour of unimportant babble before her name is mentioned, and even then all they speak of is her supposed heroism. Nothing of what they say is news to Saren - he knows her service record - but the Shepard they talk about is a Shepard who is a stranger to him and he wonders, annoyed, how the image of someone so straightforward can be so warped.

It takes two days before there is anything of substance. The security feeds from the Normandy have been leaked and three supposed experts - two humans, one turian - try to sound as though they know what they're talking about as they discuss the colour of the flames and the weapon that cuts through the hull with very little resistance. They mention heat and lasers and other things that have no meaning to Saren as he watches her, this woman who saved the galaxy just a couple of months ago, as she allows the crippled pilot's life to take priority over her own.

It infuriates him. As much as he hates her, he knows that she is better - worth more - than the man who wastes time trying to save a ship that is falling apart beneath his feet.

He watches her struggle for air, fight until the very last breath as she drifts towards a planet shrouded in ice and when she disappears, hitting atmo and burning as bright as the distant stars, he experiences a thoroughly unexpected emptiness.

This is not the way it is meant to end.


	3. Chapter 3

When a person is missing or dead, whole worlds can feel depopulated.

Saren has no warm feelings toward Shepard unless you can count the burning rage that sometimes tears through his chest, but he feels as though she, in her complexity, understood him. Something in her eyes suggested that she'd known his intention had been to keep the galaxy safe, that she'd known he hadn't just said those words about saving more lives than had ever existed but actually meant them and without her out there, sailing the stars and causing explosions that stay on your retinas, the galaxy feels significantly emptier.

She was supposed to be present for his trials. Instead, David Anderson takes her place as primary witness and speaks with the same heat he had in his voice when Kahlee Sanders' life was endangered. Saren muses, involuntarily, that Shepard would never have ended up a hostage incapable of breaking out and is annoyed with himself when he realises what goes through his mind. This reluctant respect he has for her, which increases when he hears about how she destroyed the Thorian and the assumed number of geth she killed, is unwelcome but impossible to ignore and one day the grief hits him.

He sees her face, unwavering eyes and soft mouth set in an odd faint grin, in an ad for the Alliance as he is escorted back to his cell by five guards. Her fingers are touching her temple in that strange human salute and a voice that is definitely not hers although it sounds like it encourages anyone who passes to _make humanity proud: join the Systems Alliance_ and it feels like a mockery because they, the people she has worked and bled and killed for, don't know her.

He does.

He might not know her desires or wishes when she was capable of having them, might not know how she sounded when she laughed, might not know what she used to enjoy or dislike or why she was the way she was but her life was in his hands, once, and he saw her more clearly than he thinks her superiors ever did.

x-x-x

x-x-x

_three months_

The hours in the prison are like squares, neatly fitting in next to each other, all the same in size, shape and colour.

Nothing happens.

Nothing changes the pattern.

Saren stares at the walls and thinks of his brother. Food is delivered and empty trays are taken away. He is questioned by a salarian once a week, goes to the Council chambers once a week and both occasions are always the same, questions asked in new ways but wanting to hear the same thing and eventually the Council and the public manage to delude themselves into thinking that Saren was just insane and Sovereign was a geth ship.

He doesn't correct them.

x-x-x

x-x-x

_six months_

One day, her image is finally gone from the ad and he is glad to be rid of her piercing gaze but feels... emptier. The woman who replaces her has green eyes and red hair just like she did, but this one looks fake and unnatural in comparison.

x-x-x

x-x-x

_one year_

The days in the room pass with intolerable slowness, running together like the colours in a jar of used paintbrushes, merging into a uniform, leaden gray.

There are still whispers out there, somewhere beyond the edge of his consciousness. He has been on several operating tables over the past year, countless doctors peering at the oddities of his physique and he knows that they will never be able to extract every piece of Reaper technology. Impossibly tiny and incredibly complex things crawl into his bone marrow every time a scalpel sinks into his flesh, every time his carapace is broken and mended again.

Saren doesn't listen. The galaxy is doomed anyway.

x-x-x

x-x-x

_one year, eight months_

He feels as though he should be angrier. With the Council for not listening to him, with Shepard for stopping him, with Nihlus for being trusting and not stopping him, with the Reapers for taking Desolas' mind and with nearly every government official in Citadel space for turning their backs on him, treating his words like lies made up by a deranged mind.

What he feels instead is unfamiliar hopelessness. They could strike back against the Reapers, prepare themselves, do something - anything, but the Council seems to think that if they lie to themselves enough the truth of the threat to go away and he has no desire to change their minds.

Quietly he picks at himself, talons exploring new holes and patches where doctors have removed Reaper tech and attempted to put him back together. His jaw is perforated, what used to be metal is now hollow spaces that makes his sighs sound off. It is his body, his skin, his blood and bones but it feels alien.

x-x-x

x-x-x

_two years, one month, eleven days_

He stares at his lunch - colourless, tasteless - and throws it at the wall. His action is without malice or anger, without any particular emotion. He has lived through two years of solitude and silence, is so far beyond anger that what used to be rage-fuelled outbursts are mere routine. The tray clatters to the floor, plastic dinnerware laying around it. It has been well over a year since he was last served anything that wasn't dry, and still the wall opposite his bed is discoloured from food stains despite having been thoroughly cleaned so many times.

In a day or two he will be force-fed, tubes snaking into his skin. It will be familliar and grotesque and something that breaks the regular pattern of his prison life. It will be something he can control - it is small, petty, unbearably childish but perhaps the only thing that keeps him moderately sane with the still pressing silence from his mind, and it is easier to focus on hunger pains than thoughts of Desolas. Nihlus.

Shepard.

He stands up and grabs the edge of the bed, shakes it - it is welded to the floor and wall, of course, but if he keeps it up someone will come through the door and talk to him like child, explain the futility and that if he doesn't stop he'll never get to move outside his cell. As if this is something that would be possible anyway - the Council is too aware of his abilities, know that he is capable of just about anything and would never risk him influencing other prisoners. They even exchange his guards so often and so irregularly the few times he does get out - for psych evals, medical examinations, questioning - that he almost considers being flattered. Mostly, though, he just appreciates the break in monotony.

When footsteps and muffled voices are heard outside he lets go of the bedframe, satisfied that he has manipulated those who have imprisoned him and ashamed that he has sunken so low. He was the right hand of the Council once, the best of the galaxy's elite. So good that he got away with so much, and still he wanted more. Still wants more, but thinks that if he can just have a scrap of the power he once wielded like a weapon he will feel whole again and considers lunging for the throat of whoever comes through the door first, longing to feel someone else's pulse against his hand, desiring blood running down his fingers and staining the white-tiled floor but his hand remains by his side as his eyes catch the armoured curve of a hip, a white and red stripe, a familliar _N7_.

She doesn't look the same. The scars through her eyebrow, on her lip are gone and replaced with glowing red cracks in her skin. Her eyes are still ablaze with anger, but there is something more there too - red and piercing, perhaps just a trick of the light. But her mouth set in a hard expression and her stance telling him that she is ready for a fight is the same and he has been without ghosts in his mind for long enough to know that she is real. Breath, blood, bones.

"Shepard", he says, the shape of her name strange in his mouth.

"I'm on a mission." She doesn't greet him, doesn't explain, just says what she's there to say. "Colonists in the Terminus systems are being abducted. I'm going to stop that and need the best people the galaxy has to offer. I despise you" - but there is no malice in her voice; she is merely stating a fact - "but you get results. Come with me and follow my orders and maybe you won't spend the next decade here while the Council tries to decide what to do with you."

He stares at her, dry-throated and unwilling to believe the words that fall from her lips, wanting to dismiss her and turn away but desiring to get away so much that the idea of serving under her seems unbearably tempting.

"I still think this is a terrible idea", says another human behind Shepard's shoulder - female, dark-haired, clothes like a secondary skin and displaying a symbol Saren has come across before. He is disgusted but unsurprised that Shepard has chosen to make Cerberus her allies, but wastes no time thinking about it as this undoubtedly presents him with an opportunity.

"I hate to agree with your XO, Shepard, but I'll make an exception this once", adds a turian voice from outside the door - Saren has only met the man twice but assumes that it is Garrus and something in his stomach turns at the thought of one of his own people remaining with a human even after she chooses to align herself with an organisation dedicated to enslave all other sentient life in the galaxy. The fact that Saren is about to follow the same human under the same conditions is beside the point, because he has a good reason.

"I accept", he says and chooses to ignore her cold smile when she cuffs him, because within minutes they are moving through C-Sec toward the elevator and his first taste of freedom in over two years.


	4. Chapter 4

Shepard's new ship looks as odd as her first, human and turian structures entangled in a way that makes it difficult to discern what originates from which culture. It looks as sleek and silent and strong as its predecessor which dealt the killing blow to Sovereign and Saren thinks of all the great things he could do with a ship like this, thinks how hotly his hatred for Shepard burns when he sees _Normandy_ written along the side of the elegantly curved hull.

She had everything taken from her, ship and cause and breath, but someone thought _her_ worthy of spending everything on. Someone thought it wasn't enough to bring a glorified soldier back from death but gave her everything she'd lost and asked nothing of her that she would not have done anyway. Saren stares at the back of her head and clenches his jaw tight, hating her more because no one would do a similar thing for him despite the fact that very few things are inherently different about them.

He shuts down that train of thought as they enter and begin to move through the ship, his gaze travelling across the CIC and the exclusively human ship crew. They pretend not to gawk but he can feel the tension, the waiting for him to disappear again now that his presence has been confirmed so they can gossip and whisper triumphantly about how he serves under Shepard now, how she has so completely humiliated him and as soon as that thought enters his head he cannot shake it off, suddenly convinced that is the reason she decided to bring him along. When she and Garrus make a stop in the armoury, letting the dark-haired woman lead Saren a bit further into the ship, he is relieved to be away from her for the moment.

She introduces herself, this Miranda, and is short and precise when she confirms that she works for Cerberus as the leader for Project Lazarus and that their mission is to investigate the missing colonists. The Reapers are not mentioned but they hang in the air, their infinity slipping into the silences between words even as Miranda explains that Saren will be equipped with a very basic omni-tool without extranet access.

"What is Project Lazarus?" he interrupts her in the middle of a sentence, deliberately not listening. It annoys her, as he predicted.

"An independent cell put together to bring Commander Shepard back", she replies, her tone smooth and casual. As if beating death is not a marvellous scientific breakthrough. As if the time, skill and money that must have been spent on this singular task are not astonishing and could not have been spent on another solution, on another way of dealing with the Collectors. This woman clearly does not care for Shepard and is just as clearly intelligent - despite being human - enough to have found that other solution. So why Shepard? Why this project with a ridiculously low probability of success?

Saren is mid-thought as the door opens and for a moment he is unsure what is wrong about Shepard's appearance, wondering why she seems so much smaller, more fragile, breakable. The confusion doesn't even last for a second, never makes it to his face; this is merely the first time he has seen her without armour and there is something unbearably tempting about how avaliable she is, only air and skin and cloth separating his talons from her heart, only feet between his teeth and her jugular. But he knows that should he act, he will be returned to the maddeningly blank prison cell and if she has been brought back once she can be again. He is not particularly interested in finding out what she's capable of when fuelled by revenge, and he figures he owes her something for his relative freedom - to not kill her, if nothing else.

He looks at her, studies the way she barely registers the other woman's presence, the way she slowly paces the length of the room as if this, the two of them: him and her, is merely routine. She tells him that he will be escorted by an armed crewman or member of her team at all times, that he will get a bunk in the cargo hold, and he contemplates the fact that nothing about her the way she is now is particularly intimidating. Compared to him she is short, slim, her body suggesting that she can be broken too easily and it once again annoys him that the galaxy is so in awe with this inferior creature who

_caught you, broke you, **freed** you_

in reality only has as much power as she has thermal clips. Even the Cerberus woman seems to respect Shepard's accomplishments, if not the soldier herself, despite her own astounding feat of cheating death. Despite her apparent dislike for Shepard as a person, which she further establishes when she also points out that because of the security risk Saren's presence poses, the ship's A.I. will monitor him constantly and is free to drop kinetic barriers to seal him in the moment he displays threatening or unstable behaviour.

Saren grins faintly at this, folding his arms and leaning back.

"Your ship has an A.I.", he says, voice pleased and when he looks into her eyes he sees the tightening of her mouth, a brightness to the red gleam hiding under her skin. "It seems your death has made us even more alike. You're not even fully human anymore."

x-x-x

x-x-x

She is too good to fall for his prodding, too good to allow him to find cracks he can bend open with long fingers and sharp talons. Especially in front of Miranda - Shepard doesn't particularly care for Miranda's opinion on her, but is well aware that the dark-haired woman will likely contact the man who has paid for both the Normandy and Shepard the moment she returns to her office. The Commander knows that she is needed and that she has certain freedom to do as she pleases - including freeing captive Spectres who planned the destruction of the galaxy not too long ago - but that pushing it too far, proving to be more of a liability than an asset to the Illusive Man, could leave her with nothing and an even worse reputation than before. Cerberus could easily claim that her freeing Saren was proof of indoctrination and if even the rogue organisation suggests that she is unreliable, she knows the galaxy will lie vulnerable and helpless when the Reapers come.

"This A.I. doesn't tell me to attack colonies, and _I'm_ not making the mistake of trusting a machine."

She looks away without giving him a chance to reply, tells Miranda to get Mordin to put the tracking chip in and almost wishes she could do it herself, break Saren's skin and push the tiny piece of metal into his flesh, a hard knot to remind him that she has the power now. Instead, she walks out, careful not to let anger twist her features, trying not to feel his gaze on her back, her neck, tangled in her hair. With quick strides she moves through the armoury and the CIC before taking the elevator down to crew deck where she lets herself into the port side observation room and wordlessly demands the attention of the area's only occupant.

"Hey, Shep!" the thief says, her voice as light as her movements when she shifts position on the couch. She seems about to speak, but her Commander doesn't allow for an interruption.

"You said you needed help." Shepard folds her arms, resting her weight on her back leg. "I figure that since we're in the neighbourhood, we might as well take care of it now. I'll plot a course and meet you by the shuttle when we're in orbit." She turns without waiting for acknowledgement, heading up to her quarters to write a report and gear up.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Miranda appears unsurprised that Saren and Mordin Solus know of each other and doesn't ask a single question beyond whether that fact is going to be a problem or not. The salarian assures her, facing away and gesturing for Saren to sit while he picks up a surgical knife, polished steel reflecting the light.

The procedure takes moments, a swipe of something moist and cold and then the flesh is numbed and the cut direct, precise, before a flat tiny disc is gently placed at the base of Saren's skull, behind his jaw. He searches for it, later, when he sits on his cot in the cargo hold and tries to ignore the glances from the steady stream of people who apparently need something down here right now. There is nothing unfamilliar beneath his fingers, the scar fading quickly under its coating of medi-gel. But he remembers, will remember where it is so that once opportunity presents itself - and it will present itself eventually, he just needs to be cautious and patient - he can dig the chip out and escape.

There is no use plotting that eventual escape now, though, since he does not know how Shepard will operate with him by her side, doesn't know how much time he will get to spend in the field and certainly not whether it is ever likely he will be brought to places where escape is possible. He knows Shepard and knows she is too clever to make the mistake he desperately needs her to make, but he also knows himself and is not too worried.

The right time will come.

It will because it has to, because he doesn't know how to survive if it doesn't; too proud and strong and free to spend his days trapped behind bars or on her ship. The right time will come, he thinks, repeats it like a mantra while pretending to be uninterested in the activity around him and almost misses Shepard when she walks from the elevator to the shuttle, not looking at him.

Something flickers at the edge of his vision while he watches her, a dark hooded human shape stepping away from the wall and despite the fact that eyes have been on him since he left his cell, being watched in secret by this human unsettles him.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Neither of the two women speak much as the Kodiak dips into atmo, descending towards Bekenstein's capital city. The thief is busy making last-minute arrangements via her omni-tool; Shepard is busy looking out the window at a cityscape soaked in the warm sunlight of a late afternoon, briefly thinking that she hasn't been on shore leave dirtside in a long time and that she has almost forgotten about sunsets.

After a pickup and a change of clothes, they're in a skycar and Shepard furrows her brow at Kasumi's compliment, mildly uncomfortable without her armour and combat boots. There is a small shield-generator in the clasp at her throat, at least, but even though the young woman at her side assures her that their gear will be available to them shortly, she'd prefer to go in with guns blazing. It's easier that way.

"Why a statue of Saren?" she asks as they go over the plan. Kasumi gives her a one-shoulder shrug, as carefree as Shepard will soon learn that she nearly always is.

"It was the only thing I was both willing to part with and unable to sell. No one wants to be associated with that mess, even in private, and I didn't find the time to melt it down into gold bricks. This way it still serves a purpose."

That almost draws a smile out of Shepard, the first one since she greeted Anderson.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Once they're in the vault and Shepard feels the reassuring weight of her armour over her shoulders, things finally go her way. She takes a moment to look at a few of Hock's (no doubt illegaly obtained) pieces as they search for the greybox, and while she finds many of them beautiful she feels no compunction when she fires a bullet into one of the sculptures, effectively obliterating it, when Hock merely becomes annoying. She doesn't know if there's a plan or escape route once she's ignited the crime lord's fury and that is just the way she likes it, living on the very edge of mortal danger where every breath filling her lungs might be the last one.

Of course, she makes it out. She always does.


	5. Chapter 5

Shepard refuses to allow any emotion besides impatience show on her face when the hologram of a large, mostly empty room forms around her and the man who thinks himself her employer leans back in his chair.

"Shepard," he says, pulling smoke into his lungs and she wishes he'd just get on with it. He is enjoying keeping her waiting far too much, is enjoying all the supposed power he has far too much.

She folds her arms, leans her torso away from him. "I have a mission to take care of. Get on with it."

He smiles. She doesn't like it.

"I hear you've brought someone on board, but I don't recall giving you a dossier for him. I won't make a habit of doubting your decisions - you get results, and that's what matters - but it's hardly wise to bring a turian who detests humanity on a mission dedicated to preserving our species."

"I didn't agree to do this so you could second-guess me every time I deviate from your plans. You want things to run differently, _you_ take command of the mission."

"I'm just saying that you should keep an eye on him. I wouldn't want my investment in you to go to waste."

It angers her more than she'd like to admit. He speaks as if she owes him, as if she has asked for this. "I'm fully capable of dealing with the situation," she retorts and terminates the call, but not before catching the Illusive Man's eyes over who knows how many light years and the smirk at the corner of his mouth makes her want to punch him.

She leaves, makes her rounds, talks to people, makes sure the ship is running efficiently and that everyone does their job - but it doesn't feel like it used to on the SR-1, doesn't feel like she's in control and knows what each person's duties entail or what she should expect from their reports. Miranda is good at running the ship. Too good. Sure, Shepard should be focused on the mission but she finds it difficult to fill the hours with just that and feels a need to fill every waking hour with… something. She's fine, better, as soon as she's groundside with bullets hammering into her barriers and bodies falling around her. It focuses her on what's ahead, or so she'd like to think, denying that she maybe allows herself to be exposed for longer, more often, to feel the occasional hit of a slug burrowing into her skin and convince herself that she's still human, still bleeding, still _Shepard_.

There are too many questions on her tongue but she's not sure how to ask them and even less sure if she really wants answers.

She shakes it off, still isn't ready to unpack what happened with her or the rest of the galaxy during the two years she was gone and steps out of the elevator, mildly surprised at seeing Garrus on the engineering deck, back turned to her, watching the hold.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Garrus stands just outside the elevator in engineering, hands on the railing and eyes trained on the older turian one deck below him. He is... displeased, definitely, and something else that doesn't fit into his vocabulary but nonetheless rests heavy and swirling in his chest. Maybe it has to do with the fact that everyone else on this ship has earned their place there, even the Cerberus people because as much as their allegiance with that despicable organisation - no matter what Miranda says there are no excuses for what they've done and one good deed doesn't make up for all the easily avoidable deaths leading up to it - disgusts him, they're dedicated to their current mission and there is a definite want to support Shepard tied in with that dedication. No matter what his personal opinions are on the people they've picked up already, each and every one of them is good at their job and he's been with Shepard too long to doubt her decisions now.

Well, except in this case, because Saren Arterius doesn't fit in with the rest. He didn't earn his place here. Sure, every turian knows of his remarkable history within the military and the Spectres, his long list of accomplishments and even Shepard - dauntless, brilliant, unconquerable as she is - has some way left until her list is of equal length, even if she did order the destruction of a Reaper and returned from the dead.

The cop-turned-mercenary breathes out slowly, about to return to the battery when he hears the hiss from the elevator doors opening.

"Garrus."

Shepard's voice is laced with surprise but not questioning and she says nothing as she walks up to him, easily mimicking his stance. They watch Saren for a while, his hunched back and barely moving head, elbows leaning on knees and hands hanging limply, talons pointing at the floor.

"You know I don't doubt your decisions," Garrus says eventually and sees how Shepard turns her head towards him out of the corner of his eye.

"But?"

"This just... feels strange, having him on the Normandy. Like the galaxy's upside-down." _Again_, he adds mentally, thinking of her improbable death and the two years of grief that followed, dispersed in a heartbeat once he spotted the N7 on her chestplate through his scope.

"I hear you. And the moment he becomes a problem, I have a bullet waiting to lodge itself in his brain. But until then it seems like we'll need every capable shot, tech and biotic we can find and as long as we're without the old crew I at least want people whose abilities I can count on. I'm prepared to trust him as much as I'm prepared to trust Cerberus, but he was a Spectre and that's got to be good for something in the field."

"Hm." Garrus glances down at Shepard, moving his mandibles tensely. He knows the conversation is over and thus doesn't offer further commentary, just watches her watching Saren until she walks away to continue her post-mission rounds. He likes that she still keeps to that habit. It offers some stability after the two chaotic years he lived without her and everything she gave him and the rest of her squad and maybe, he thinks, even this impostor-Normandy can become the kind of ship people should write legends about.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Saren stands as she approaches, folds his arms as he watches her. His gaze sinks into her skin, pierces her bones. She is once again unarmoured and he is once again noticing the smallness of her, the fragility of her skin and bones and lungs and wonders if he will have to reevaluate her every time he sees her.

He remembers her neck in his hand, the way her flesh gave under pressure but he does not remember equating that to weakness. Perhaps because she hadn't yet died. Now... now he sees that she is made of easily-destroyed matter, sinew and synapses rather than fire and solid fury. Someone who can be beaten. Someone who doesn't have to stay in his way.

"You don't like me and the feeling is mutual but we'll both have to deal with each other's company for a while because we have a problem on our hands and I find myself in need of a new team," she says without a word of greeting and offers no explanation, no word on why Garrus is seemingly the only one from the old team still by her side and he doesn't really care, he tells himself, but of course there is the hint of a question forming at the back of his mind because he knows how the others fought for her. Perhaps the others went down with her ship and were not deemed worthy of resurrection. He wouldn't be surprised. A quarian child, a krogan mercenary and unremarkable humans - what sort of a crew is that for a woman who can impress a Reaper? The asari, the Prothean expert might have been useful once upon a time but now that the secret of the Conduit is known he sees no further use for her, and cannot imagine why Shepard would either, should the asari still live.

"The Collectors," he notes, folding his arms, unconsciously mirroring her as she leans against a crate.

"Good to see prison hasn't ruined your cognitive ability. However, considering certain changes" - he notices her eyes falling to his side, where tubes once hung, where he is still scarred beneath his clothing - "I need to know if you're as capable as you were. For starters, I noticed there were no mention of your biotics in the notes C-Sec transferred to me."

His mandibles tighten in contempt, every inch of him despising that she has read every intimate detail researchers and scientists have put together when examining him and all the parts that were not him and he clenches his fists in anger thinking of how superior she must have felt while reading about how he allowed the Reaper to possess him, use him as a puppet and he tries to ignore the taste of the words as they move across his tongue.

"I got that power from Sovereign."

"Huh." The sound is noncommittal, as is her face. He unclenches one hand, reluctantly, uncertainly. This is not the Shepard he has come to expect and though it might have more to do with the fact that she isn't chasing him, that he is not a threat than anything else, he cannot help but wonder if Cerberus and Miranda did something beyond rebuilding her body. "I hope that wasn't where you got your combat skill too."

Her words anger him and he's certain she knows, thinks he can see it in the way she shifts her weight. Like she's prepared to attack first and suddenly he's sure she will but isn't about to give her the chance. Maybe it's instinct, maybe he wants to show her that he's still capable and strong - whatever the reason, he lunges at her.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Shepard is well aware that getting so close to Saren is reckless and dangerous, but she also knows that if they don't do this now, on her ship rather than in the field where every rock could hide an unpleasant surprise for all she knows, she might very well end up dead again and she really doesn't have time for that. Hell, humanity as a whole doesn't have time for that.

So she spreads her feet and curls into a fighting stance and avoids the turian's knees and teeth and claws until those cold synthetic eyes flash blue into her own, pierced with cybernetic red, when she deliberately allows a fist to connect with her shoulder. It isn't enough to bruise her skin but it is enough for him to pull back, transform the relentless blows into carefully aimed hatred and even Shepard is impressed. Within moments he goes from uncoiled anger to the clever, fearless turian she followed across half the galaxy and as her arm slams into his chest she can feel his geth hand closing around her other wrist. She wrenches it loose, steps back to catch her breath before aiming a kick at his left shin which forces him to focus on his balance long enough for her to spin around and jab an elbow into his ribs. He hisses, air seeping out from his lungs despite the hard metallic-like carapace and lands a blow to her shoulder blade before she turns again and places a foot behind one of his, pulling her leg back and felling him to the ground as he manages to shove a knee into her gut. She is reluctantly fascinated, not just because he found an opportunity even while falling but by everything he proves to be. This fight is every bit as passionate and furious as their last stand in the Council chambers with the light from exploding ships as their backdrop.

As she watches him stand up and shake his head, Shepard thinks that if she can just take this, all this desperation and umbrage, and turn it towards the ancient synthetics that so nearly managed to tame this wild and fierce creature with a wrath in his soul that matches her own... if she can do that, perhaps even Saren can redeem himself.

x-x-x

x-x-x

The woman walks away without offering him a hand, perhaps because she knows he wouldn't accept it, and Saren goes back to his cot as members of the ship crew appear one by one. He didn't notice that they left, so focused was he on Shepard the moment she appeared and he rationalises that by reducing it to self-preservation; she was most likely threat and he kept her in his views... but whether he likes it or not, that is not entirely true. Beneath all the layers of anger and frustration and hatred lies something else, something that is not quite admiration and not quite jealousy at whatever made her a diamond and him merely a rock. Unyelding, hard, able to crush his enemies, yes... and he is as lethal as she is, as determined and capable, but something within her stubborn human mind separates her from everything he has known and though he pushes the memory down, just as he has during the years in custody, a small part of him remembers that Shepard saw through all of Sovereigns lies and gave Saren a chance and perhaps, because of that and because she offers no apologies and because he has no doubts she will save the entire galaxy whether it wants to be saved by her or not, he can allow himself to follow her lead. For a time. Shepard has proven herself worthy of something very similar to respect.

He does not admit it, but even that is merely rationalising. Deep within his chest there has been a small, nearly insignificant - insignificant because he won't allow himself to give in to it - feeling of relief. Two years of crushing loneliness, of being reduced to nothing but a traitor despite all the things he has done for his people and the other Council races, for the _good of the galaxy_, have been eating away at him, slowly driving him mad. His mind has been empty without the voice of the Reaper there, a solid constant ever since he found the ship two decades previous, and the void has been filled with things he would have rather forgotten. He does not regret the lives he has taken, not even Nihlus' because it was a necessity when it happened, nor does he regret the death of Benezia. Still, there are things that can haunt even Saren Arterius and he wishes he could escape the intrusive silence.

He would almost rather have Shepard in front of him, armoured and armed to the teeth with that cruelty in her eyes that sent him to prison, to the most unbearable punishment he could imagine then and can think of now and he has barely finished the thought before she strides through the cargo hold again with that white and red stripe down her arm and determination straightening her spine. Saren realises that more time than he thought has passed, presses his mandibles tightly towards his teeth in anger over losing track of reality. However, he is not left in solitude for long as Shepard walks up to him, this time followed by the woman who brought her back to life and two members of the ship crew carrying a crate.

Miranda waves the people with the crate forward, instructs them to set it down and then allows them to leave. Saren glances at her, merely acknowledging her presence and actions, before looking at Shepard.

"Gear up," she says, jerking her chin at the now opened crate. He looks into it, recognising the familiar shape of a turian chestplate but sees that it is not his own. Of course, that one had holes and tears to accommodate the synthetic parts Sovereign added to him; parts now removed save for the arm, picked from his flesh and bones by scientists like insects picked from rotten wood by long-beaked birds.

He pulls the armour on, feels as though he can hear a little piece of freedom each time the seals close and despite it not being the custom fit he's used to, he feels more at ease now than he has for years.

"I still think this is a bad idea. It's too soon, you don't know-" Miranda begins, but is silenced by Shepard holding up her hand.

"Noted. I'm not expecting trouble this time, so your concern is unnecessary. Besides, you're there to make sure all your hard work hasn't been for nothing."

Saren despises, hates the women for talking as though he is not there - worse, insignificant, and a roar rises in his mind about how he was, whether for good or bad reasons, the most powerful organic in the galaxy for a short time and he deserves more. It's like Shepard know this, can feel it in her inferior but imposing mind, because she silences this roar by catching the turian's gaze and tells him that he is to join her and Miranda while they board another ship to ask another person to join the team. He nods. There is opportunity here. If he proves to not be trouble, if he follows this human commander and fights with her she might eventually bring him groundside. Maybe to a world where one lone turian can easily slip away, provided he can find a way to remove the tracker - it is cleverly placed behind his carapace; out of reach for sharp talons or a knife - or at least disrupt its signal. Perhaps he could get off-world again by contacting the Re-

No. He is not that desperate. The thought is habit, remains of two decades with Sovereign. It's not what he wants and he reluctantly realises that his best shot at freedom is to follow Shepard and that is difficult to accept. He has worked alone or been a leader almost all his life; obeying someone else is alien to him, particularly when this someone is an alien herself... but as he watches her march through the docking tube to the other ship, her back straight and her head proudly held high, he thinks that the fact that the alien is the only person who's ever managed to best him makes it just that much more bearable.

x-x-x

x-x-x

The security guard - a Blue Suns merc, a nobody - barely has time to finish asking Shepard for her guns before all three of them stand with weapon in hand. The pistol Saren has been granted does not have a thermal clip, but the hiss as it unfolds in his grasp is still so resolute, so certain.

"I'll relinquish one bullet. Where do you want it?"

It is not a threat, so far from a threat. Shepard's words hold nothing but a marble-solid promise and the former Spectre at her shoulder is tempted to smile when the ship's CO arrives, for this other turian - Warden Kuril - cannot look into the Commander's eyes for more than a few seconds before foolishly allowing her to officially board his vessel armed to the teeth. She has faced hordes of geth and walked out alive. She has faced him. But Saren knows that piercing gaze, those eyes like green fire. Greater men and women than this barefaced turian have met them and faltered. Not Saren, though. No, he held her gaze when he intended to end his own life, had once wanted the scorching determination in them to burn the Reaper from his soul.

They walk through a door, into a narrow corridor that curves like a vein through the body of the ship and as Kuril opens his mouth, Saren tenses.

Shepard has brought him to a prison ship.

He stares at the cell units moving around, barely listens to the Warden (he thought that was an odd title, wondered why it wasn't Captain or Admiral or Commander) speaking about the security or Jack. Saren feels trapped in his own mind again, a creeping panic climbing up his spine when Kuril leaves and Shepard glances at her two squad members.

Did she and Miranda ask about escape attempts and security protocols because they plan to leave him here? Are the funds from Cerberus money they have payed to ensure that he is kept safe in a box somewhere between worlds?

No. He is paranoid. Shepard is cruel, but not this cruel.

Not this cruel.

If she was she wouldn't hand out death threats to guards to make them stop beating a prisoner.

She wouldn't turn the back of her easily cracked skull to him. She is cruel, but not that cruel and not this stupid... and too late, Saren realises that it is not Shepard's intentions he should have focused on.

"My apologies, Shepard. You're more valuable as a prisoner than a customer. Not to mention Arterius," Kuril says and Saren growls in fury, whipping the pistol out on instinct before he remembers that it is useless to him, that he is useless against all these pathetic mercenaries as long as he is without both bullets and biotics and he hates Shepard for possessing both.

"You talked up your noble intentions with this prison. But it turns out you're a criminal like the rest." Shepard's voice is low, hoarse, dangerous as she speaks and Saren can almost appreciate the promise of violence that lie at the edges of her words.

They roll into cover, Miranda at Shepard's side.

"Stay down," the dark-haired woman tells Saren. "We'll take care of this."

"Three guns are better than two. Kill him if he shoots me," Shepard interjects and punches a couple of clips from her SMG before tossing them over to the turian, seconds before the first mercs arrive and the familliar, comfortable sound of gunfire rings through the stale air.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Miranda is not pleased. Not that she ever feels particularly so - accomplished, even satisfied when she's in a good mood, sure. Never pleased, though, and this situation certainly warrants her to be the exact opposite.

She knew that Shepard would be difficult from the start, of course she did. She is highly intelligent and more than capable of calculating a person's response to any given situation, provided she has some data to back those calculations up with. Given that she has learned every intimate detail about the woman who is temporarily her commanding officer, down to and including the exact curve of her toenails, Miranda was not surprised that Shepard chose to go after Archangel and take a drink at Afterllife rather than prioritise the locating and extraction of Mordin Solus like the Cerberus officer had suggested. Choosing to bring the ex-Spectre onto the ship had been an unlikely scenario, but not unexpected, and Miranda is very well aware that the choice to bring him here is a deliberate provocation. Shepard does not like Cerberus and strives to prove this every step of the way. It is likely a way to tell herself that she is real and her own and not just a walking, talking heap of flesh and cybernetics that thinks it is Commander Shepard.

All of this is expected. That doesn't mean that it isn't frustrating as hell.

Still, Miranda enjoys working with Shepard. She enjoys watching the body she hovered over for two years move, particularly during a fight, because that more than anything is proof that Cerberus has gone above and beyond what anyone thought possible. It isn't just the first human Spectre using her biotics to charge from one end of the room to the other; it's a marvel of science, proof of what Cerberus can do for humanity, the ultimate validation of Miranda's skill.

She just doesn't enjoy it right now, because she has to divide her attention between Shepard, their enemies, and Saren, or so she tells herself. In reality the turian is as reliable as Jacob, at least for the moment. He watches Shepard's back as she lights the tube-like corridor up with her biotics, a dark shadow against a wall of blue-white light, and fires at every enemy he sees. Considering that he hasn't been in a fight since before Shepard died, he's good. Not as good as Miranda, of course, but good. The Commander knows what she's doing, Miranda will give her that.

Except for when she decides to release every damned prisoner on Purgatory to get to one person.

It's reckless. Exceptionally so. There is no guarantee that Jack will make it, particularly since she proves to be barely a girl without weapons or armour. The ability to punch through a bulkhead is of little use when bullets are coming in your direction. A small part of Miranda would like to think that Shepard is trusting the Illusive Man's judgement, that his recommendation to have Jack on the team has something to do with the decision to get the young woman out of cryostasis. Of course, the reality is most likely that Shepard takes the failed attempt to imprison her as an insult to her abilities - honestly, what did Kuril expect when cajoling the Commander with anything less than fifteen guards with rocket launchers? - and she'll be damned if she doesn't get what she came here for.

Miranda can appreciate that.

x-x-x

x-x-x

"This is for the good of the galaxy!"

Shepard grits her teeth. She's angry because this man is a petty, pathetic criminal who profits on other people's misery while indulging in his own illusion of greatness. She doesn't deny the fact that Purgatory is a good idea, save for the part where prisoners are sold to a life of torture. She may not have any compunction when it comes to killing or placing a well-timed bullet in a non-vital part as a warning, but extensive torture is rarely effective.

This turian is already as bad as they come. He uses his people as cannon fodder, throws them her way while he hides in an impenetrable bubble. It is almost a shame that he didn't bother with protecting the shield generators better. She only requires a handful of shots before all his shields are down and blue, blue blood pools beneath his lifeless body.

"Let's go get Jack and get off this ship."

Miranda and Saren only nod and follow her through more corridors, fight off more guards. But the mercs are disorganised, more concerned with getting off the ship now that their leader's voice no longer can be heard over the comm and more and more channels go dark. The corridors are littered with corpses of prisoners from every species Shepard has encountered as well as the bodies of several of the Blue Suns. The fighting here has been desperate; it is obvious that they are getting close to the docking area.

And there she is, her fragile frame telling nothing of the raw power that runs through her nervous system. Shepard is very impressed and has no intention of letting the batarian sneaking up on her take this powerhouse down.

The gunshot calls Jack's attention. For a fleeting second there is something very much resembling fear dancing across the strong features, soon replaced by doubt. Good. She's not attacking, proving that she's clever enough to recognise Shepard and her team as strangers as well as gathering that they have no current interest in taking her down.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I just saved your ass," Shepard replies.

Jack has asked a perfectly valid question, but today has not been a good day and Shepard never claimed to be particularly patient or good with people. Neither has this younger woman, apparently, who also proves to have a healthy distrust of Cerberus - which complicates things. Damn Illusive Man and his entire organisation.

"I'm offering to be your friend. You don't want to be my enemy."

"She'll hunt you to the darkest corners of the galaxy," Saren states, unbidden, and Shepard is taken by surprise although she's careful not to show it. She has a feeling that something important has changed between them but is uncertain of what. His gaze still clings to the back of her skull, and it is not with good intention.

At least Jack is surprisingly reasonable - of course she, too, realises that her choice is between a burning, dying Purgatory and the sleek Normandy, be she a Cerberus vessel or not. Miranda is, expectantly, less reasonable but Shepard has no time or desire to please her XO. If Jack finds a reason to blow up a Cerberus facility, Shepard has no current objections.


	6. Chapter 6

After decontamination and having his weapon and armour taken away, Saren is escorted to the showers. The armed crewman escorting him seems nervous, grip tight on the pistol and his face twisting into a barely suppressed expression of revulsion and anxiety as the turian undresses.

Saren isn't surprised. What remains of his torso… the scarring on the left side is a patchwork of Salarian-made cybernetics and vat-grown skin that doesn't match his own. He hasn't looked in a mirror for longer than he cares to remember, only caught glimpses in reflective surfaces here and there and never out of armour or the prison uniform, but he has seen enough when changing clothes. Felt the parts where his chest has been broken and put back together under his palm. He knows enough to realise that he must look _grotesque_ and somehow it pleases him that even in this situation, humiliating as it is, he can strike fear into someone's heart.

After all, if he looks like this but is still standing, how easy would it be for him to take one measly human down?

When the warm water stops running down his body and is replaced by streams of warm air to dry him off - there is not enough space on warships like the Normandy for towel-storage - he gets dressed and is brought to the mess for a meal.

In some ways, he thinks that this is worse than prison, if only because of all the silent gazes following his every move. They latch onto his arms, his face, his shoulders and stick there as if waiting for him to break or attack and he is tempted to entertain the thought but instead focuses on a potential freedom as he grabs his tray of food.

He won't admit it even to himself but in a way he is also grateful for the presence of other people, the sounds of organic life surrounding him.

x-x-x

x-x-x

When Shepard asks him more about his time on Omega, Garrus is almost too willing to tell her everything because he knows that she will accept his failures and his guilt without a shred of pity just as she will acknowledge his success without praise.

It's different from what he knew before meeting her and different from what he got to know after her death. _Before_ even things he did right were met with scrutiny, and _after_ he was constantly showered with praise but this ship is a separate universe where things are right and he will be pushed to be better, to be the best he can be. Just like every other person serving under Shepard.

This ship is changing like the one before it did. He can almost feel it breathe in sync with her, can practically map out how the want to be noticed by her is spreading, the borderline infatuation. Shepard is so stoic, so harsh and unrelenting and when she does offer her approval it is well-deserved. Garrus knows the feeling, the admiration that turns into devotion and the craving for her face to soften as she speaks to you because it means that you're doing something right, something good in the eyes of this person who has endured things most would believe impossible until they'd met her face to face.

And here she stands, his best friend, relaxing in a way he's never seen before and despite the red glowing scars speaking of what has happened to her, telling him that this is not her skin or eyes or hair, there is no doubt in his mind that this is his Commander.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Shepard lies effortlessly to herself, claiming that her questions to Garrus are all about him and not means to distract herself from what she has become, pretending like she doesn't have to pretend at all. There's comfort in it, because the turian allows it and either plays along or doesn't know what she's doing and she isn't sure which of those options she'd prefer. He is, at present, her focus and anchor. He has grown far more confident during their time apart - reckless and impulsive still, but there is also something significantly more mature about him these days and Shepard is glad for it because it means she doesn't have to be alone in whatever this is.

Knowing about the coming war, perhaps, though that isn't all of it since the people on board are definitely aware.

But, she guesses as she leaves her friend and walks towards the elevator, there's more to it that that; Garrus doesn't just know, he's seen and smelled and heard and felt the effects of the Reapers. He's heard Sovereign's voice and torn geth apart with bullets by her side. He's been under her command before.

Maybe it's just that with him, Joker, and Chakwas, she doesn't have to start all over. They're stabilising this new ship and making the unknown a little bit more predictable and that helps, even for Commander Shepard who has woken up without knowing if she'll be alive long enough to go to bed again for well over a decade.

Gardner has already poured her a cup of coffee when Shepard moves towards him in the mess - it hasn't been many days but he pays attention to his new CO and she appreciates not having to pause, attempting small talk and almost certainly failing. And as much as she'd prefer moving on and working by her terminal in the CIC, eyes on the extranet and ears waiting for word from Joker, the A.I., Kelly, she still slows down when she spots Saren tucked away at the corner of a table. He sits with his back towards her, the nearest escape route to the elevator blocked by a guard, and barely looks up when she brushes past and sinks down in the opposite chair.

Shepard watches the geth hand move a fork from the plate to Saren's mouth, a remarkably mundane action, as she raises her gaze to meet his. There is no challenge in her eyes and after a moment he starts chewing, looking down to put more food on the fork before looking at her again, perhaps studying her the way she studies him.

She observes how cybernetics have filled the spaces left by the metal Sovereign perforated Saren's skin with, how whoever patched the turian up went for function rather than form and thinks about how her own teeth are straighter than before and fit together almost too well without the notches, miniscule splinters lost in the field. How her face is the same but also different. The slightest bit prettier, perhaps, despite the scarring.

With the taste of coffee running over her tongue she watches how Saren doesn't fit in, how he looks like a wild animal taught to act civilised. She wonders how long he can stand being on the Normandy, how long until she'll have to place a bullet in his skull. If she is perfectly honest she hopes it'll be a while because as much as he despises the turian she thinks she could learn a thing or two from working with him.

And as much as she despises him, sitting in silence with someone without their shoulders tensing in anticipation and eyes fixed on her lips to catch every syllable that might pass them is almost pleasant, a reminder of Wrex's unimpressed grunts to indicate that he listened but didn't particularly care. That thought, in turn, reminds her of the last dossier she currently possesses, one talking about a krogan warlord and without announcing her departure she leaves the mess, half-finished coffee still on the table.

x-x-x

x-x-x

The man is closer than Shepard thought when she first heard his footsteps. Closer than Zaeed thought too, she assumes, because he swears when the steady stream of bullets tears into the merc's face, chunks of flesh falling with wet sounds against the crate they've taken cover behind. Blood splatters onto Jack's shoulder and she is out of cover in an instant, throwing a shockwave ahead of them which allows for enough time to reassess the battlefield and find new cover, pushing further into enemy territory.

A small part of Shepard, the part that never really stops thinking about Virmire, doesn't want Okeer on her team anymore because thoughts of breeding krogan like this leaves a foul taste in her mouth, like the ashes and blood of a dead friend, like betrayal, like lies. She destroyed a place like this once and still remembers the anger on Wrex's face. Quick, fleetings fragments of thoughts pass through her head like tiny fish in a shallow pool of water, like the bullets from her SMG; _what if_ and _what if_ and _what if_. What if she'd left that lab alone. What if she turns around and looks for Wrex instead. What if everything could be different.

She'll never get away from those thoughts, she assumes, but doesn't really mind because remembering that is better than remembering air being sucked from her lungs and the edges of her vision going dark.

With a deep breath she swings her legs over a fallen block of concrete and pushes energy through her body. It just takes a thought, a subtle manipulation of her nervous system and she turns into a self-propelling mass relay with all her strength and power focused on a singular point on a merc's chest. She phases through solid objects, flies across the battlefield and kills the other woman immediately on impact, pushes her limp body to the side and takes her cover.

They're fighting on two fronts, now, and make short work of taking the mercs down. Blood runs in red and blue streams along the slightly tilting floors of the old building, shattered pieces or armour crunch under their boots as they move further, further, until they come upon a krogan who shares both his first and last words with them and Shepard is glad that the lab on Virmire burned because his existence is not a life, and the krogan race deserves better than clones without real purpose.

They push on, thanks to the tankbred krogan, down a slope muddy with blood and guts from past battles and the more they fight the more Shepard gets into it. She drops the stray thoughts, stops trying to make herself fit into a world that is the same but different from the one she left, stops filling the hollow silences between fights with guilt.

There is only the reassuring sound of gunfire, smell of death, sight of skulls shattered and bodies being flung against walls by biotics. It is what she knows, what she is trained to do, so why does it take so long for her to get into the battle with heart and soul?

She barely has time to form the thought before Rana stands before her, soft and smiling and trying to appease, explain. It is all too similar, but different in that Shepard is angrier and Rana less scared and they part ways in a calmer manner than the first time.

Rana isn't running. Shepard's finger isn't on the trigger. The galaxy isn't in immediate peril.

Beyond the door, her target waits.

x-x-x

x-x-x

The tank takes up most of the shuttle. Zaeed goes to stand in the cockpit, harassing the pilot all the way back to the Normandy, while Jack and Shepard sit with the tank laid down between them.

Jack plays music on her omni-tool, something loud and noisy Shepard doesn't recognise while she occasionally glances over at the Commander and, every time, increases the volume bit by bit. Perhaps she's looking to get a rise out of Shepard, a reaction, a sign that she's crossing a line but the older woman has no plan to take the bait and endures the wordless minutes until the shuttle lands in the Normandy's hold.

Shepard gets out, orders decon and gets a few members of the ship crew to take care of the tank before she walks away, a simple _good job, you two_ thrown over her armoured shoulder before she disappears into the lift.

There is nothing, at first. Just silence.

"Have Miranda and Jacob meet me in the comm room in ten."

"Of course, Commander."

EDI's voice is not exactly curt, but not quite neutral either and Shepard's chest fills with annoyance over a machine displaying emotions; a machine that possesses her ship and seemingly expects to be treated like a member of the crew. So far it is useful, occasionally helpful, but Shepard has no inclination towards treating it like a _person_ and turns off communication with the computer system from her quarters as soon as the door closes behind her.

The breaths are heavy in her lungs and she sinks down onto the bed, slowly releasing the airtight seals of her armour one by one, putting the pieces on the bed around her, leaving leg guards and boots on while she rises to move the chestpiece, gauntlets, pauldrons to her closet. She'll go over it for maintenance later - there's no rush - when she has talked about the krogan with her XO and walked the round through the ship and written her mission report.

(She'll do it when she finds herself in need of something to do other than contemplate her own mortality.)

x-x-x

x-x-x

The young krogan's eyes are the colour of a winter sky and Shepard's blood runs hot when he pushes her against a crate, when she presses a gun to his abdomen, when the promise of more blood spilled hangs heavy in their breaths.

Grunt's youth, his temporary need of her, gives Shepard another level of purpose. She shouldn't need it, not with the responsibility of her species placed on her shoulders, but the unspoken agreement that she will lead this krogan who is the only one on her squad not already an accomplished fighter gives her the slightest push to work even harder.

Perhaps, she reasons absent-mindedly as she goes back to her station in the CIC, it is because it is familiar - ever since she first joined the Alliance she has been leading and instructing those less experienced than her. On this new Normandy there is no such role for her to fill, with Miranda knowing more than she does, with Jack and Zaeed following orders but not a leader. This krogan and the prospect of leading him is, strangely more so than Garrus, just what Shepard needs to feel like herself.


	7. Chapter 7

The cloud-patterned sky is as still and quiet as a painting, a space vast enough that Kaidan's thoughts can roam free for once.

It's harder on a ship even if that's where he feels most at home. Having people so close leaves little room to think, or grieve, or realise that two years of heartbreak might have been for nothing and he is grateful that this assignment came through so soon after the rumours of Shepard being back started circulating. Grateful that he didn't hear the news alert that confirmed them (and started a few others, he's guessing) until he was already on his way to the Terminus systems.

He replays it sometimes. He's heard it more times than he cares to count, knows every syllable, the exact way Emily Wong breathes between each sentence but every few days or so he needs to hear it again, how _Commander Shepard, the first human Spectre, recently demanded that former fellow Spectre Saren Arterius be released into her custody_ and every time he reassures himself that the feelings of anger, disappointment, betrayal, relief aren't unfounded. He still keeps them under wraps, though; can't be considered volatile even under these circumstances, can't be looked at like too many other L2s.

Bending down over the console to run another calibration test, he wonders if the others know about her. He tried to keep in contact with Garrus and Liara for a while, sent a couple of polite messages to Joker and doctor Chakwas but they all had to grieve apart from each other and it ended up being… easier to let go. Focus on his work, try to forget the bright, bright light of the drive core exploding, the way her voice cracked at the edges.

_Get the hell out of here!_

He closes his eyes. If he hadn't listened maybe things would be different. Maybe he wouldn't be on this colony, lonely despite being surrounded by people and wondering every day if she's going to find a way to contact him, explain how she's alive and what she's doing with Saren and answer all the other questions he hasn't put words to yet.

"Commander Alenko…?"

It takes a moment to bring his expression back to something neutral, but if Lilith notices she doesn't say anything, just mentions the comms being down and can he have a look?

Later he'll think about how his tone wasn't fair. Later he'll remember that she was nicer to him than most people in the colony and regret that he couldn't save her when the alien ship shattered the peace, tearing the quiet sky apart like paper. He'll remember the sounds and sights around him as his arms and legs and eyelids were frozen in place until Shepard's voice pierced the air like salvation, like hope, like…

x-x-x

x-x-x

The yeoman is turning away from her work station the moment Shepard steps into the CIC. She'd intended to scan the nearby systems for resources, a mundane task that still lets her keep an eye on operations and be generally available to the ship crew - her cabin is nice, but placed just under the hull she feels disconnected in a way she isn't used to after twelve active years with the Alliance - but she instantly gets the feeling those plans are about to be changed.

"It just occurred to me that we haven't talked about my duties in regards to Saren," Kelly says as soon as she's asked. "He's your prisoner, so I understand if you don't want me to treat him like the rest of your team, but I think it'd be beneficial if I visited him too, and patched him in to the ship's comms. Maybe reactivate his omni-tool? Without extranet access, obviously, but since he doesn't have any tasks on the ship I think he would benefit from some form of entertainment."

A part of Shepard wants to say no without consideration, but bringing Saren on this mission wasn't just a petulant act of rebellion against the plans that had already been laid out for her by people she doesn't trust. She remembers his conviction that he would save the galaxy from certain doom, remembers how he fought to break the indoctrination and that making him serve on _her_ ship is a chance at redemption as much as it is a punishment.

So she agrees. "Bring an armed guard with you. And I want any omni-tool activity logged and sent through to me."

"Of course, Commander. Thank you. Now that that's dealt with… the Illusive Man wanted to speak to you in the briefing room."

Kelly's smile is apologetic as Shepard nods tensely and turns to leave. Her steps are measured, body tight and tense because she doesn't like talking to the secretive leader of Cerberus, doesn't trust him or his motives even though she's getting comfortable on the ship he's given her.

When he drops Kaidan's name she likes him even less - maybe because he knew before she did and didn't tell her until now, maybe not for any particular reason. It doesn't matter. She knows they're a couple of hours out but gears up anyway and tells Jacob to be ready to move out, brings up her omni-tool to make the same request of Garrus and finally goes to the cockpit to wait, jaw tightly clenched while stars pass by outside the window.

The moment Joker clears the relay she spins on her heel and strides through the CIC. She wants to be on the Kodiak and on her way the second they're close enough, but when Garrus exits the elevator and visibly pauses as their eyes lock she tilts her head towards the armoury.

Jacob looks up as they enter, slotting a thermal clip into his shotgun. "Ready to head out, Commander."

Shepard just nods, stepping to the side to let Garrus pass and get his rifle. "The colony that got attacked… someone from the old team is there."

Garrus look over at her while placing a rifle in its slot. "Kaidan?"

She doesn't reply, lets her expression do the talking and can tell Garrus tenses the same way she did. Jacob doesn't have any outward reaction which in itself is a show of respect and understanding that this isn't just about the Collectors, and both men fall into a quiet efficiency as guns are strapped to hips and backs and within minutes the hangar is cleared, the shuttle boarded, and Horizon lies waiting.

The Collector ship juts out of the ground like an ugly, clunky spear, casting its shadow over the buildings and fields of crops. It's such a normal settlement, the same structures and furniture as hundreds of others across the galaxy, but it's silent and still in a way that puts all three of them on edge.

They don't talk about the creatures they fight. The husk they come across gives them pause, the Reaper influence confirmed, and they push harder as they move further into the settlement. Even one of the Collectors glowing and speaking doesn't stop them in their stride, nor do the new varieties in husks. If it's something they need to examine they'll do it later; there's a job to do and now that they've found their rhythm they're not stopping. The lone survivor they find is good news, each paralysed colonist is too - every human that doesn't fall into the hands of the Reapers is a small victory even if too many end up being taken aboard the alien ship.

Shepard watches it leave with fury burning in her chest. She snaps at the man who evidently followed them; his anger and disappointment are nothing compared to her own even if she's better at keeping it under control - and then, without warning, Kaidan walks into view.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Seeing her is a punch to the chest, gut-wrenching, new armour but that same red and white stripe down her arm, that N7 emblem on her chestplate, that same look on her face and he's so goddamn _relieved_ that he folds her into his arms and she - relentless, unconquerable, Reaper-killer - lets him for some inexplicable reason.

It was never a romance. He never kissed her despite wanting to, but he thought about the way they came close once for so many nights after she went down with her ship. He thinks about it again now as he steps back, looks at her and feels like he doesn't know who she is and he's almost grateful when she asks if something's bothering him.

Everything is bothering him. This is all wrong and he barely registers her words, only hears _Cerberus_, sees Garrus stand as comfortably as ever at Shepard's four and that's a betrayal, too.

When they served together he was nothing if not respectful and it wasn't just because he's spent most of his life carefully making sure no one would consider him unstable. He never questioned her judgement even when he saw just how ruthless she had the capacity to be, how easily she threatened or killed people standing between her and her goal, because he could see how her decisions and actions were justified. He was all admiration and badly-concealed awe, and even if he perhaps felt a shred of that a moment ago it's all gone now.

_You left me._

He used to admire her ability to put personal feelings aside. Well, most feelings; she never hid her anger but everything else was kept tightly locked up and even if he learned to read her fairly well there's nothing betraying what she feels when she tells him about being in a coma, about using Cerberus as a means to an end, about a lack of choice.

She's Commander goddamn Shepard. How can she not have a choice? How can she think he'd believe that? How can she offer him a spot on her ship without a hint of a smile, regret, guilt, anything?

Kaidan can't stay. Not in her presence and not on this planet. She got the defenses up and running again anyway - of course she did - so his job here is done and even though he takes a second to tell her to be careful, he can't get away quickly enough because he's pretty sure something will break irrevocably if he stays.

Something might anyway. It takes every ounce of control for him not to erupt in a biotic flare.

x-x-x

x-x-x

A couple of months ago Kaidan would have listened to her.

Shepard folds her arms. Correction: a couple of years ago he would have and she can feel that information finally sinking in. Joker, Chakwas, Tali, Garrus, Anderson… they'd all accepted her presence, allowed her to slip neatly back into their lives and she appreciates it because it allowed her to shove the idea that she'd been _dead_ deep into her subconscious where it couldn't bother her.

It had also allowed her to go on with the notion that the galaxy at large should just accept that she was back and deal with it she same way she had, move on the same way she'd moved on - _forced_ herself to move on.

But for the first time since she got off that operating table, she has to acknowledge that she had been dead. Gone. That the way air was ripped from her lungs wasn't just some trauma she'd survived through a mix of her own unmatched skill and miraculous luck, that she hadn't just been in a coma.

She had _died_.

The rest of the universe had moved on and changed while she felt like she'd just… woken up with the kind of pain she guessed came with getting spaced. She is still the same person, the exact same person she was when her ship got attacked. Sure, there are physical differences; subtle ones like her skin lacking a lifetime of scars and blemishes, slightly refined features, and more defined ones like the raw strength, increased biotic power, healing rate and tolerance for toxins. She was off the charts lethal before; someone is going to have to invent a new measurement for what she is now.

At her core, though, she is still the same person and it makes something undefinable twist in her gut.

She doesn't have time for it. She forces her focus into a needle point, makes it through a debrief with the Illusive Man - he asks about Kaidan but she shuts it down, moves on. She considers going after the people from the new dossiers but two of them are on the same planet as Liara and even though Tali would probably join, right now Shepard needs… distance. Distance and a good fight.

"EDI, I want you to extend your scanner range as far as you can," she says while she observes the galaxy map, "and find me a distress signal. Anything."

"Understood, Commander."

x-x-x

x-x-x

With the soft glow of a terminal as his only light, Kaidan grieves. He does so quietly, elbows on the table, hands folded one over the other, forehead resting against them.

His grief is unspecified, save for the fact that it's all related to Shepard. Every stage seems to hit him at once, in waves, and all he can do right now is wait for it so subside. He's glad the captain of the Gettysburg has allowed him the use of their quarters, ostensibly to write a report on Horizon but really so he can sit quietly and think while they make way to the Citadel.

He shouldn't have talked to her like that, doesn't know what came over him - that is, he doesn't know the specifics and sorting it out isn't going to be fun but he has to, and he has to do it sooner rather than later.

Right now he's just trying to process the immediate feelings rising to the surface so he can keep himself together long enough to get to a hotel room and deal with things in private before he actually writes that report and gets ready for a new assignment.

The universe has other plans, however. His comm chimes, the omni-tool letting him know it's David Anderson, and he sighs before accepting.

"Good evening, Admiral." His voice is a little too strained, he knows, but if anyone'll understand it's Anderson.

"Good evening, Commander. I got the notice that you were picked up by the Gettysburg." It's quiet for a moment, slow breath almost synced over the lightyears. "How are you holding up?"

Kaidan's jaw clenches. "The colony was attacked by Collectors. We lost a lot of people."

"Damn. At least you made it out. Did you get the defense towers up and running?"

"No, sir." He pauses. "Shepard did."

They're quiet again, but the silence is different this time and Anderson's voice is almost warm when he says "I'm surprised you're not with her."

"She's working with Cerberus."

"I know."

_That can't be right._ "Sir?"

"She came to see me a couple of weeks ago. Asked about you. I didn't give her any details - I still trust Shepard, but not the people she's working with."

Kaidan leans back in the chair, looks down at his hands. He's glad the call is audio only because he can allow his face to fall for a moment. "I hope she knows what she's doing."

"So do I, Commander. I'll let you go, but come by my office with your report when you're ready."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

He stares at the terminal in front of him for a few long minutes, slowly putting his thoughts in order and, almost as an afterthought, logs in to send a message


	8. Chapter 8

_this one's heavy on introspection but sometimes you gotta have some of that - and it was time for my favourite rogue spectre to have a good, long think about stuff. it was also time for him and my favourite commander to have a proper one-on-one. it's super romantic i promise._

* * *

Jack and Grunt are brimming with energy, eager and excited as they get out of the shuttle with all the recklessness that comes with youth and an unbridled desire for destruction and the stage could be set just for them, broken pieces of a freighter scattered across the rocky ground and the promise of an incoming storm.

The krogan has never fired a gun before but gets the hang of it quickly, is pleased with the destruction he can cause and he and Jack both try to outshine the other. It's a good fight, risky, cold white security mechs coming at them in droves as the wind hurls sand into the air, obscuring their vision.

Good isn't the same as enough, though, and Shepard is aware that the relief she feels when she has a trail to follow isn't part of a healthy mindset but can't bring herself to care. This is what she is now, a tool of destruction as much as a supposed bringer of salvation, remade for someone else's cause.

She sees the parallel. She'd be stupid not to. Maybe that's why she takes the time to perform these tasks that have no relation to her mission; she puts her life on the line not for the galaxy or because she is told or asked to but because it is her ichoice/i.

So she keeps going, follows the trail back to Jarrahe Station and walks into the eerie silence with squared shoulders once the Normandy docks.

Mordin is the only one who makes a sound, a deep inhale as they step over the bodies strewn across the floor. Even Miranda, usually willing to supply commentary, is quiet and straight-faced, focused, passive but vigilant. The still air just isn't the place for small talk and silence rests heavy around them while they read scattered datapads and unlock door after door through the station.

Putting a permanent end to the paranoid VI, moments before it attempts to upload itself to her ship, brings Shepard some small satisfaction but she's still chasing something undefinable, something that will set things a little more iright/i and let her feel real again. Something that will take her further from dark eyes full of accusation and sadness and the knowledge that she's different no matter what she or anyone else says, something that will make her feel like she has her place in the universe again.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Every once in a while someone comes into the cargo bay, retrieving something from a storage box or performing maintenance on the shuttle. Occasionally an engineer or two will stand with their heads bent over one of the workstations by the elevator, and if they aren't focused and efficient they at least manage to put on a convincing show if one is willing to overlook the friendly banter, relaxed body language.

The lack of discipline is expected from humans.

Saren doesn't pay too close attention to what they actually do, lingering more on his feelings of contempt at their behaviour, but they provide a steady rhythm of background activity that keep the feelings of isolation and monotony away regardless of what he thinks of them - he's still a prisoner, still kept on a leash but at least he doesn't feel icaged/i and in the not-too-quiet hours on the Normandy he slowly begins to untangle the complex mess of thoughts and feelings in the deepest recesses of his mind.

It's easier here where he's not kept in a box, only let out to be whittled away at with questions and surgeries, watching the Council talk themselves into believing what's convenient the way he knew they would; the way they've always done, the way that used to not only benefit him but iencourage/i him.

He isn't shifting the blame. He knows everything he did and the choices he made, knows that he was always capable of being ruthless just as he knows that giving him the unlimited power of a Spectre made him more so - and he doesn't regret that; Saren was cold and calculating long before he found the Reaper, proud and accomplished, the right hand of the Council and their intended saviour. He would sacrifice millions to save the lives of billions and the price would have been worth it, he still thinks it would.

Every action he's ever taken has been justified because the end goal was always pure no matter how the road there looked. With that mindset he surpassed everyone during his career. His brother, the other Spectres, even himself and he could have been unstoppable. Would have been unstoppable. The galaxy would have bowed to him even without the Reaper's influence and the corpses left in his wake would still have been numerous. He would probably still have killed Nihlus one day, might have assassinated a Councillor if it had come to that and he wouldn't have felt remorse for any of it. No, what he regrets is the iweakness/i and idesperation/i that followed him to his prison cell and admitting that those were part of him until Shepard stepped through the door is not something he does easily because none of it ifeels/i like it could be part of him.

The conflicting images of himself, the idea that he is both the man who brought the Citadel to its knees and a pathetic shell of a person who starved himself and rattled his bed for attention and a meager amount of control, are difficult to merge.

He wonders which parts Shepard sees.

(Thoughts of her come unbidden, but even if the Reaper doesn't speak to him anymore its obsession still lingers; the human has been woven into his consciousness, a pattern that repeats ishepardshepardshepard/i and he has stopped fighting it, would rather have the searing heat of her than a cold god in his mind.)

Which parts made her decide to take him on her ship, her mission. Had the roles been reversed he'd never have been so charitable, regardless of her species. If he had watched her write on the ground before him, if he had read about her being that same kind of iweak/i…

Of course, she never would have because even if she'd been in his place from the beginning he can't see her let a Reaper into her mind. She's too volatile, too emotional. Sovereign wanted him to believe that would be her undoing, but Sovereign is dead and Shepard still fights and he is grateful whether he wants to be or not.

But perhaps she fights to a point that is unsustainable even for her. Saren knows enough about humans to recognise that when she left in the shuttle the day before, marching through the cargo hold quickly enough that the atmospheric retention field keeping the vacuum and debris of space at bay might just have stopped her, something was wrong and when she returned she looked ready to blow something up. Considering the frequency at which she has been leaving since then he doubts she's been sleeping much, if at all.

Part of him thinks iof course she doesn't know her own limit, she's human/i and another ishe doesn't have a limit, she's Shepard/i.

Not for the first time he wonders what fuels her, what makes a mere human go as hard and relentlessly as she does, what made her take one look around Eden Prime and decide she would put all that drive into stopping what happened there without any idea what she'd be up against.

The memory of that colony sits wrong in his mind now. The human sacrifices are irrelevant; he's done worse for less, but those times it was of his own volition. At least… for a time. He has no idea iwhen/i Sovereign started reshaping his thoughts and wants, but knows it must have happened long before the attack.

He stands, stretches, begins to pace the cargo hold. Thinking too long about the Reaper that was his home, ship, hope, and doom still makes something deep in his bones stir.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Saren is halfway down the hold when she enters the deck. She watches how his head turns at the sound, how his stance subtly changes when he registers her presence.

Their eyes are locked while he walks toward her, both of them watching the other intently and Shepard takes note of the way his shoulders remain low despite the expression on his face, how each stride is fluid rather than a tense stop-start motion. He's not pleased to see her, naturally, but he's not actively hostile which makes him fit in with the general baseline of the team members on the engineering deck. She can work with that.

When he stands before her there's a moment of silence, a mutual not-quite-hesitation because how do people like them greet each other?

Finally Shepard pushes past it, tilts her head toward the elevator. "Come on," she tells him, "we need to set up your loadout."

"You trust me with guns, Shepard?"

There's the slightest challenge in his voice but it sounds like habit rather than malice and she doesn't rise to it. "I didn't bring you to let you rot in my cargo bay."

Something passes over his face as he stands by her side in the confined space. Neither of them needs to continue that particular line of conversation, already knowing its end and both equally unwilling to explicitly admit that they're iallies/i just yet. Of course tension and animosity lingers still; Shepard isn't exactly happy to have Saren board even if the choice to bring him was entirely her own and his presence is a continuous, petty rebellion against Cerberus which in itself pleases her, and she is well aware that he's deeply conflicted over the situation. Relative freedom at the cost of being under her command would do that to most people.

Still, there is something in each of them that can read something in the other. She felt it on Virmire, felt it in the Council chambers, feels it now. It's part of the reason she decided she wanted him to be part of this and it is the entire reason they can stand side by side in a silence that feels more comfortable than it should, and her still being armed and armoured doesn't factor in. It's also why, she guesses, they both seem so much more aware of each other than of the people surrounding them in any given situation. Why they demand each other's focus.

She glances up at him as the doors hiss open to the CIC, a second-long assessment of his expression before getting out. He's two steps behind her, precisely at her eight even the short way to the armoury.

Jacob salutes, is very careful with looking directly at her and not let his eyes stray a millimeter from hers until his arm is at his side again. In someone with more attitude she would have read it as passive aggressive but Jacob is as straightforward as soldiers come and she nods, accepts it as a show of loyalty.

"We didn't have much to go on, with Spectre records being sealed," he says, waving Shepard and Saren over to the large table in the center of the room, "but Garrus told me about the kind of training you go through in the turian military so I put together a selection. If you're looking for anything in particular we can always make a requisition, see what our people can find."

"No Spectre gear, unfortunately, and the Council isn't letting me make official requisitions," Shepard laments as she walks past Jacob to take up position near the end of the table. Saren hasn't said anything yet, but he too moves closer, standing opposite the humans. "I miss my pistol."

Jacob flashes her a quick grin. "Cerberus has reach, but not that much. Doubt you're going to give them access, too."

"You separate yourself from them while wearing their uniform?" The disdain in Saren's voice is laid on so thick it has to be exaggerated, the way it was the first time she heard him speak in the Council chambers. "Do humans understand the concept of loyalty at all?"

There's ialmost/i a crackle of blue passing over Jacob's skin.

"Both of you are going to think very carefully about how you want the next few seconds to progress," Shepard says, her tone turned dark and low.

Jacob is tense, ready to blow, but he doesn't move a millimeter. And Saren, for some reason Shepard can't quite determine, isn't looking at the other human anymore. He's turned his head to her, and while she's not an expert in subtle turian microexpressions she'd swear the way his mandibles have slackened a fraction is less a mocking grin and more something in the vicinity of relief.

Again their eyes are locked, a second or two passing in silence as Shepard and Saren stare at each other. "Okay," she says then, gesturing to the weapons on display. "Jacob, tell us what you've got."

It's tense, but half an hour later a selection of guns are folded and neatly packed into a weapons crate, and Shepard sends Saren down to crew deck with an armed escort to take care of his needs before they head out.

When they're alone she leans her lower back against the table, folding her arms as she watches Jacob clear the surface.

"So."

He pauses, looking down at the pistol in his hands before pressing the buttons that folds it up into a neat square. "I know, Commander. Shouldn't have let him get to me that easily."

"Is it going to be a problem?"

Another few seconds of silence follow. Shepard shifts, impatient, and Jacob finally speaks again as he keeps putting everything away, walking back and forth and not quite looking at her. "I'm good at compartmentalising. Got to be, with the shit soldiers like us see in the field. But… you remember I was on Eden Prime during the attack? Having the guy who caused that in front of me, insulting me like that - it's not the kind of thing that just slides off." He pauses and brings up his omni-tool, and Shepard can see through the interface that he puts in a requisition order for assault rifle parts.

"You're not answering my question."

"Just wanted to explain, Commander. It's probably going to take a couple more weeks before I'm completely comfortable, but I won't let this happen again."

She nods, trusts him enough to take him on his word. In the time they've worked together he's been nothing but open and honest with his thoughts and feelings and she has no reason to doubt him now, just as he hasn't expressed doubt regarding her choices.

So she nods to him and leaves, ignoring the fact that she has new messages waiting as she walks through the CIC again to take position in the cockpit while the ship approaches Capek.

x-x-x

x-x-x

Shepard briefs them on the shuttle ride, him and Kasumi, the human who cloaks herself. He dislikes her instantly, her way of talking like she's intimately familiar with his secrets, her way of making herself comfortable with one leg pulled up under her.

You'd never see any other species act like that on a mission. Even a hanar would be at some semblance of attention.

Saren keeps from snorting in disgust. He looks out the window instead, ihope/i fluttering somewhere deep inside when he realises Shepard is taking him groundside - the world is all barren rock and lifeless and he has no means of escape or survival, no plan, but some day.

He's in no immediate rush.

The air is hot, dusty, the facility nested in between large rocks. Saren assesses the area with a confidence he hasn't felt since before his imprisonment, a calm sweeping look before stepping out of the shuttle. The space is only accessible via shuttle, meaning any survivors have either left or have managed to lock themselves in somewhere. Nothing of concern.

iNo loose ends/i.

Then again they wouldn't be his to deal with, he reminds himself as the two humans rush forward and take cover.

He crouches behind a rock, assault rifle resting against his shoulder. When he fires and the bullets crush circuits in the security mechs he's at iease/i, his thoughts on the task at hand. It's easy, familiar, comfortable. For a few minutes he only registers the humans when a flash of biotic blue streaks through the air. It almost makes him smile when he realises the size of the factory inside the rock wall - if all the mechs have been corrupted, it will be a while before the fight is over.

It will be a ichallenge/i.

That alone is enough for him to overlook the fact that dealing with a glorified computer virus is beneath people like them - him and Shepard - and he takes up position behind a support beam overlooking the factory floor, picking off mechs one by one.

The labyrinth of shipping crates isn't an ideal setup for ranged combat, however, and it doesn't take long before the synthetic voices announcing isystem failure/i grow fainter.

Kasumi is somewhere at the edges, keeping the center of the room from getting overwhelmed, cloak flickering on and off. Saren avoids getting close, follows the sound of shotgun blasts while dealing with the mechs that activate when he's in proximity. It's easy enough, but easy in a way that makes him feel strong rather than unchallenged.

When he finds Shepard he pauses, seeing four of the LOKIs standing in a circle with their pistols aimed at her chest and back. The butt of her shotgun smashes into one's face, sending it skull first into a crate. Another gets its head shot off. The third still has its tech armour and she fires once, twice, and then iher/i barrier flickers and falls while the fourth mech raises its gun a fraction.

Saren has shot its arm off before it can pull the trigger. Shepard finishes the job and turns to him, and the impact of her burning gaze hits him so hard he could lose his breath.

In the low light, the hum of machines, the scattered bodies of white synthetics all around them he sees her the same way he did that day two years ago in the Council chambers, radiant and bright and her eyes were glowing long before cybernetic red pierced them.

"Thanks," she says curtly, breaking the spell but maybe just for the moment.

More mechs activate and within seconds the two of them are in motion, taking up position at each other's nine as they face opposite directions.

Gunfire fills the silence but not enough that Saren can't hear the mechs behind him. "You're letting them get too close, Shepard."

"I have a shotgun," she replies angrily and a used heatsink clatters to the floor.

He looks over his shoulder, rests the assault rifle in his left hand the few seconds it takes to pull out the pistol, shoot a mech that's mere feet away, and return to picking off the ones in front of him. "You're reckless." He doesn't need to look at her to know the way her skin draws taut over her jaw when those blunt, square teeth grind together and he's sure that it's been a long time since anyone questioned her actions in battle.

It's been even longer since he was under anyone's command, though, and old habits die hard - in the past twenty-six years the only times he's fought with someone at his side, he's been the one in charge. More often than not he's been teaching, guiding, evaluating; a consequence of being the best even among the galaxy's elite.

And he iwas/i the best.

Better than Shepard.

He'll admit her tenacity and ability is remarkable. He'll admit she would beat him in a real fight, even when he's at his best and not weak after two years of being imprisoned. He knows she's a better soldier, fighter, saviour, but he was a better iSpectre/i. He wielded his status and authority like a weapon, gathered intel and knew how to use it. Shepard doesn't even have a reliable network of people outside her friends and the Alliance and it's a iwaste/i how the Council gave her the title and sent her off without anything but her rage.

If Nihlus had gotten to train her for real…

They break the position to get into cover, letting their hardsuits recharge for a few seconds before stepping out again and every movement falls into the same rhythm, no fumbling or hesitation as they fit into each other's space. It shouldn't be possible with their history, definitely shouldn't be this easy.

Another wave of mechs activates. Hard footfalls draw closer on the metal floor and they should move, push forward, shut down the production line and return to the ship all according to the mission parameters but there's a need here, a need and something that would look like survivor's guilt to most people.

Eventually, though, Saren turns the same direction as Shepard and takes a step forward. When she follows, matching the motion without hesitation, he keeps going and there's a very particular kind of pleasure in having iher/i follow his lead - but more importantly; if she is willing to do that she is willing to listen.

It's not out of kindness. He did the same with David Anderson many years ago. Perhaps he does it now because he finds a part of himself in something that was never related to the years he spent with Sovereign. Should she ask, though, he'll claim it's because he can't abide stupidity or incompetence.

(She is neither, but anyone can stray too close to 'stupid'.)

"Whatever this is, Shepard," he says the next time they duck into cover, disdain filling his voice in a way that would ring false to someone who could pick up on the subharmonics, "you need to find another way to work through it. Don't let your feelings get the better of you."

Surprise flashes over her features, lightning-quick shaping back into hard resolve before she gets out of cover again, shoots three mechs in the face in rapid succession and makes another push toward the control room.

When he catches up she says "If my feelings got the better of me I would have shot you a long time ago."

"You did," he replies.

"I shot iat/i you." Another LOKI mech falls, stuttering out that ihostile forces have engaged/i before hitting the ground.

"Do you think you could have your little quarrel when we're back on board?" Kasumi's voice suddenly says somewhere nearby and she flickers into visibility after jamming her omni-tool into the back of a synthetic head. "These things don't drop enough clips."

Saren dislikes her sudden appearance, dislikes knowing that she's witnessed even a part of the short conversation, dislikes that Shepard nods and resumes the fight so casually.

x-x-x

x-x-x

It's not necessary to set every mech in the factory to blow, but it's destructive and efficient and that has always been how Shepard operates and even if she doesn't need it as much now as when the shuttle touched ground it's a fitting end to a sleepless couple of days.

She glances over her shoulder. "Get ready."

For a moment she catches Saren's eye, tilts her head forward a couple of degrees and his mandibles flare just as faintly. The slightest acknowledgement that isomething/i has transpired before she looks back, enters the command and spins on her heel to make a run for the doors. The first explosion isn't far behind and it pushes her to run faster, be better, be stronger.

Her boots pound on the metal floor, louder than the ibang-bang-bang/i of LOKIs permanently shutting down, louder than the rush of blood in her ears.

When they exit the facility she looks towards the sky and all the worlds out there. The sheer life force of the galaxy is too abstract, but she knows that somewhere out there Liara and Kaidan and Wrex are still breathing and living, knows that Tali is just hours away and she is finally ready to get back to making sure all of them have a future.


End file.
